


take care of you

by minhoscallousedhands



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-02
Updated: 2016-01-02
Packaged: 2018-05-11 02:32:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5610607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minhoscallousedhands/pseuds/minhoscallousedhands
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>minho likes to run at dawn. newt knows it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	take care of you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [newtporn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/newtporn/gifts).



> requested by the ever so talented Meli (newtporn). based on a song with the same title by saje.

_i met you here at dawn_  
you gave me fever  
no need to tell me all  
your eyes i always remember

 

 

It was nearing the break of dawn of a Saturday, late in November, in a park covered with an unmissable layer of dried amber leaves. A boy in his late teens was running, panting, sweating in the chilly breeze, his running shoes scratching the dry leaves against the jogging pavement. Unlike most people who dreads mornings and jogging/running, he loves the two–combined. He runs every Saturday, same park, same time of day, as punctual as the long arm of a clock to every number. It had been going on for a year, long enough for him to have had the layout of the jogging track memorized; he could run with his eyes closed without tripping over to the grass if he wanted to.

But he never wanted to, and he will never want to.

Because one, for those who never had the motivation to wake up at this hour (or stayed up long enough to be awake), the sky is the prettiest. He could watch it going from a calming black to an invigorating gradient of purple and amber. And two, well, reason number two is the first person he’s ever seen in the park at this very hour, alive, well, neither drunk nor high. A little sad, but in a good shape otherwise. He was sitting at a bench facing a pond in the middle of the park, starring blankly at the rippling water–there was a bit of a drizzle that morning. But nothing, not even a blizzard, could possibly make the sad sitting boy unrecognizable to the avid runner. Dirty blonde mane atop his pale skinned head, eyes as blue as the summer sky, thin chapped lips that’s almost always tugged slightly downwards at its ends, and a white hoodie. Always in that white hoodie when it’s cold like this.

“Newt?” he had jogged to the bench, putting his runners to a rest just behind where the other boy was sitting.

Newt looked up, and it was one of the rare times when his lips curl in a smile. His eyes bore holes at the runner’s and soon his breathing picked up the runner’s rhythm; fast and shallow and short. How could he forget the dark pools of his eyes? They draw him in, sending him to a mental spiral down to a pitch black abyss. A large wave of memories overflowed his brain, his veins hot with rushing blood. “Minho?”

 

 

 _i wrote you on and on_  
you never gave me an answer  
am i the only one?  
i didn’t know it was over

 

 

“You’re back.” the runner forced a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, head still light with disbelief. “You left London.” he sat down next to the grinning blonde, who welcomed him with an arm around his shoulders.

“Course I am, and I did.” he pulled Minho so they face each other, his eyes twinkled delightfully. “For you.”

“Why?”

“Because I love you.”

“Do you? Because the last time you replied to my email was two months ago. Nothing since. I tried. Nothing. Why now?”

Newt lowered his face, his heart sunk into his stomach. Leaving what his father had planned out for him, a business empire to run, to be with Minho in the States was not an easy choice. They were both young, Newt only had 3 years on the 19 year old Minho, way too young to think that they’ve found the love of their lives. The older boy insisted on leaving, promising his parents he would make it on his own. They were much, much too supportive–which makes it even harder for him. He could be justified for taking so much time ignoring Minho, just to see how much he could take, while keeping himself busy working with his father. He could just honestly say he went to hell and back, because a life without Minho was definitely not the life he wants to live. So he did. He went back. For Minho.

“’M sorry, Min. But it’s true. I do love you. God, I miss you.” a string of short whispers, rolling in a beautiful British accent, slipped out of Newt’s chapped lips. He was so close to Minho’s ear, but he didn’t budge.

“Bullshit.” he spat, throwing a spear to Newt’s heart, not missing its core by any millimeter.

“Look, I could go on–about how hard it is there without you, why I ignored you, what I did there this past year–for hours, really. But let me just-God, I haven’t seen you in a year-just, let me hold you. Please.”

Minho might seem heartless and tough, but Newt’s his kryptonite. Only Newt could make the six foot of chiseled muscles and bulging veins weak in his knees, all teary eyed, begging for him to stay with him last year. So when he heard him plead, he could only silently ease into his arm, heaving a sigh as he rest himself on the taller boy’s chest.

“Okay.”

Newt’s explanation and Minho’s running can wait, the dawn can’t. The two tangled in each other’s arms quietly, watching a splash of amber crack into the vast darkness of the night sky.

Content.

Somehow.

**Author's Note:**

> prompts are always welcome on my tumblr, hmu at fuckboytommy (:


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